I keep waiting for Patty to tell me to stop calling her before soccer. Almost every week for the past month, I let my nervous energy fly into her reassuring ear, and she just keeps answering the phone. “I feel like such a jerk always bringing Wyatt along.” When Patty first told me about the team it sounded too good to be true, the idea of getting out onto a field and running again, moving my legs unrelated to parenting or work.
“I’m one thousand percent positive everyone thinks it’s fine, Lucy. Did you ever find your cleats or should I ask the gals if anyone has spares?”
I look down at the tote bag full of snacks for Wyatt, drinks for Wyatt, and my tattered soccer cleats from college. They were in the bottom of a bin in our storage area of the basement, and it’s taken me awhile to find the time to search that deeply to find them. I never did find my shin guards, but it’s been easy enough to avoid getting kicked.
“I’ve got my old ones here,” I tell Patty. I blow out a breath. Every week, I almost talk myself out of going. At first, Patty had to insist, telling me nobody cared if I’m rusty and out of shape. Only my gratitude for her saving Wyatt compelled me to get in the car.
A few weeks in, and I’m still feeling emotional about the team existing, welcoming me in when I don’t feel like I have anything to contribute. But I know that I’ll feel better after I run around, so I tell her, “All right. We’re heading up to the field.”
Patty introduced me to the Phe-Moms, an over-30 women’s soccer team. In truth, most of the women are in their 40s. They joke about being crones, but they play intense, joyful soccer. I had no idea such a thing existed, but honestly, I’m more excited about joining them than I’ve been about anything since getting approved for financial aid for Wyatt’s daycare.
A few times a week, the Phe-Moms get together to play pickup soccer for an hour or so. Just women, mostly moms…playing soccer together. It sounds like some sort of magic club I dreamed up in a fever haze. The concept of all of them carving out space to compete, even for fun, just against one another—it feels like a fairytale. I still marvel that there are really this many moms near me who have their act together enough to exercise as a team.
I find parking near the turf field in Schenley Park and Wyatt scuttles up the hill behind me as I walk toward the field. I exhale a deep sigh of relief when I see a woman there with two little boys. Tawnya, mom to twins Natori and Odongo, has been another divine gift in my life.
“Hey, friends!” Tawnya waves as she holds a child on one hip and then sticks out that arm to prevent another one of her sons from sprinting into the street. He ducks between her legs in a brown blur of curly hair. “Natori had so much fun playing with Wyatt this weekend, didn’t you?” She boops his nose and smiles at him before setting him down. He clings to her leg and looks at me curiously.
I smile at her words. She mentioned last week that she was desperate for a babysitter for her twins and I jumped at the chance to help her. It’s so rare that I feel like I have anything to offer anyone since my life has been such a train wreck. Hanging out at Tawnya’s house while her twins played with Wyatt was a treat for all of us.
I smile at Natori, and Odongo, who has joined his brother in clinging to his mother’s legs. “We had a blast, too. And you really didn’t need to order that much pizza for us. I feel like you could have fed an entire soccer team with what you ordered.”
Tawnya snorts. “Kioko took it to work with him the next day,” she says. “We probably did feed the whole team.” Our three boys run off to the sidelines together, leaving Tawnya and I behind as we make our way to the field.
I marvel at the comfort with which she takes her eye off her sons, the trust she feels that they will remain safe and intact if she’s not staring at them every single second. I told Patty I’m still not over my fear about what happened. I know Nick is on house arrest right now and there’s no actual threat to Wyatt, but I can’t shake the terror that rolled over me during and, even more, after the events on the South Side. My lawyer advised me not to file any changes in custody until after Nick’s criminal proceedings. For now, I have emergency custody since Nick can only leave his house for work. And since he’s awaiting trial for endangering our son. My lawyer thinks I’ll be able to get sole custody if I bide my time.
I sit next to Tawnya and lace up my cleats while she talks a little about work. Tawnya is the first Black woman to make partner at her law firm and often has events to attend in the evenings. Not on Wednesdays, though. She carves out this night for the Phe-Moms, just like all the rest of the team. Everyone has jobs and drama, they always assure me. But on Wednesday nights for 90 minutes, we all just get to play soccer.
Tawnya and I step onto the turf, passing the ball back and forth. I was delighted the first day I came, when the muscle memory kicked in as soon as my foot made contact with the rubber ball. Then I was so sore the next day I could hardly move. It was a good reminder for me to always make sure I help my clients stretch after our training sessions at the gym.
Patty walks onto the field and hollers for everyone to gather around before we get started. I juggle the ball while she gets organized, just to see if I still can. I grin when I succeed in bouncing it off my thigh, back to my foot. Tawnya smiles and nudges me with her shoulder. “Oooh,” she says. “You’ve got moves!”
Patty looks around the group and says, “You all know we’re not getting any younger. Every week, one of you pulls something and we all hear about it.” We all laugh. I’m one of the youngest players here. Patty just turned 50 and she’s not alone. I feel wistful, hoping I am still playing with them in ten and even twenty years. Patty continues talking. “So I thought I’d put Lucy on the spot and ask her to take us through a warm-up before we get started.”
My eyes bulge. “Me?” I hadn’t mentioned my work to Patty to brag or take over like this. It just came up when I wore a work shirt to soccer one night.
Patty nods. “I thought maybe you could help make sure we don’t tear our groins.”
“Or break our ankles!” One of the Heathers rotates her foot and we all cringe at the cracking and popping sounds it makes. Many women on the team in their forties are named either Heather or Jessica, and many of them also have old injuries from their high school or college playing days.
I take a deep breath and look around at their eager faces. I nod. “Okay,” I say. “We can do a dynamic warmup.” I ask them to line up on the sideline and we skip out to mid-field, walking back. I take them through a few rounds of walking lunges and butt-kicks, feeling ecstatic as the whole team stretches together. They seem truly interested in learning how to safely warm up their bodies. Some of them even ask for ideas to stretch a trouble spot, so I show them some yoga poses for their hips and lower back.
By the time we pick out brightly-colored pinnies to split into two teams, I’m overwhelmed. I’ve been waiting for a shoe to drop when it comes to soccer and my new friendships. I know better than to hope this will last long. If the past few years have taught me anything, it’s that everything good is fleeting. I tell myself to soak it up and appreciate this experience while it lasts. I can enjoy this feeling, of having helped them even in a small way. It’s okay to have fun.
The game starts and my focus narrows in to the ball, the grass, and the women on my team. My passes aren’t as crisp as they were in my early 20s, but I’m playing! I feel an unfamiliar sensation and it takes me a few minutes to realize it’s joy. For the next hour, I don’t worry about Wyatt. I wave at him during play stoppages, but he’s engrossed in talking to his new friends and eventually the heavy weight of worry about him begins to lift.
Today, I’m playing striker and I get to run up near the other team’s goal, where my job is to try to score. It takes a long time to get open and find some space, but eventually I receive a pass from our mid-fielder. I plant my right foot, peek up at the goal, and swing through with my left leg, feeling the tingle after my foot connects with the ball. I hear the swish as it lands inside the net and euphoria washes over me.
“God, that felt good,” I say, as Patty rushes up to give me a high five.
“Looked good, too,” she says. “Way to go.”
As we continue playing, I’m reminded of what I liked so much about team sports. It feels good to be challenged in this way and it feels good to be cheered for. It feels good even to make mistakes out here, and have the other people in the red pinnies tell me my efforts were a good idea.
“That’s game,” Soma, another Phe-Mom, yells, a little after nine. I’m surprised to learn we’ve been playing for over an hour and I jerk my head toward the sidelines, realizing I haven’t laid eyes on Wyatt in a bit.
He and Tawnya’s boys are huddled under the bleachers, eating snacks and throwing pinecones. I realize Wyatt has had just as much fun tonight as I have. By the time I left Nick, I was very isolated, so Wyatt doesn’t get a lot of time with friends outside of daycare. We didn’t really have any friends before now.
Tawnya nudges me with her elbow and points to the kids. “Thick as thieves, right?” I laugh and duck as one of them almost hits me with an acorn.
“Hey,” she says. “Want to bring Wyatt to the Forge game Saturday night? I know I’ll have an easier time managing Odongo and Natori if they’ve got a friend along.”
“The soccer game?” I haven’t been to a professional soccer game since I started dating Nick. I know Wyatt would have a blast. The team was recently promoted in the pro league, but has been under media fire for some sort of doping scandal, and I remember reading that tickets are easy to come by.
I wince. Tickets. “I just don’t think that’s in my budget for this month.”
By the time I set aside money for a retainer for my new custody lawyer, I barely had enough left over for bills this month. I try not to rely on Nick’s infrequent support payments unless it’s an emergency. I’ve been saving them in a separate bank account for someday.
Tawnya snaps her fingers. “Lucy, you watched my kids for me at my house for free last week. Even if I didn’t get the tickets for free, I’d want to treat you.” Tawnya’s husband, Kioko, owns the Pittsburgh Forge team. “Let me bring you and Wyatt up into the fancy seats.” She looks at me expectantly.
I raise my brows. “Free tickets to professional soccer and an offer to occupy my kid safely nearby?”
“Exactly,” Tawnya says. She digs out her phone. “Let me text you VIP parking passes, too.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask,” she says, tapping away at her phone. “I offered.” She grins and then turns and whistles for her kids. She waves as the three of them march off toward their car.
By Saturday afternoon, Wyatt has told anyone who will listen that his new best friends are taking him to watch soccer. I think everyone in my apartment building has heard this story at least four times.
I’m thankful he’s sharing that story and not talking about the incident where his father locked him in a hot car so he could go drinking.
As I’m buckling Wyatt into his car seat, he shouts over my shoulder to tell a person walking their dog, “We’re going to watch PROFESSIONAL SOCCER!” I grin and ruffle his hair. As I drive to the stadium, I take another moment to feel gratitude that he’s happy. He wasn’t traumatized by what happened with his dad.
I’m the only one who was affected by that, and I’m strong enough to handle it. I handled it just like I handle every time Nick calls child protective services to tell another outrageous lie about my parenting.
“I can handle it.” I repeat this mantra to myself as I wait in line to enter the VIP lot and flash the e-tickets on my phone to the parking attendant. I grin as he waves me ahead, still marveling at the special treatment and opportunities that have been raining down on us since Patty stumbled across my kid.
Tawnya waves at me from the gate and Wyatt tugs on my arm, wanting to run across the parking lot to his friends. Once we’re safely inside the turnstile, I let go of Wyatt’s hand so he can follow Natori and Odongo. They seem to know exactly where to go, leading the way as we head inside the stadium’s offices.
Tawnya notices me looking around and smiles. “First stop is the media center to wish the team good luck.”
My jaw drops. “We’re going to meet the players? Woah.” I’ve worked with high caliber athletes in the past. I don’t really get starstruck, since I helped train them and know what sort of work they put in to maintain their levels of fitness. It’s been a long time since I was a proper strength coach, though. Plus it definitely feels impressive to get a VIP tour of a pro soccer stadium and full access to the team.
Tawnya pushes open a door and beckons for me to follow as the kids make their way through a line of players waiting for media interviews. Wyatt joins in giving out high fives, eventually coming to a stop in front of two men clad in dark suits.
Tawnya leans in to one of the men, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Babe, this is my friend I was telling you about!” She squeezes his hand and he grins. “Lucy, this is Kioko.”
I hold out my hand for a shake and he takes it between both of his, giving me a squeeze. I feel immediately at ease around him, even more so when he bends to greet Wyatt. “And this is the young man my sons have told me so much about, eh? Wait a second. I have something for you.” Kioko reaches into a pocket of his suit and extracts a small, black and gold bundle. “If you are going to cheer for my team, you should be wearing their colors, yes?”
Wyatt nods his head like this is the most logical thing he’s ever heard. He slowly unfolds a tiny Forge jersey and his eyes light up as he looks at me. Kioko stands back up and looks to the man at his side, who I realize is staring at us intently.
I was so caught up in meeting Tawnya’s husband that I failed to notice his companion, looking devastating in a dark suit with his dark hair and dark eyes and dark stubble to match. My breath hitches in my throat when I catch his gaze, but then he grins and winks at my son as Kioko says, “But where are my manners? I almost forgot to introduce my family to the newest member of the Forge. Lucy, Tawnya, boys, meet Hawk. He debuts with us next week.”
The man in question nods his head. Kioko thumps him on the back. “Wyatt, you should probably ask him for his autograph now before he gets too famous and the lines to meet him grow too long!” Kioko laughs as Wyatt’s jaw drops.
My son holds out his new jersey and says, “Can I have your autograph?”
I practically swoon as Hawk reaches into his dress shirt pocket for a marker, crouching down to write his name on the yellow lettering of Wyatt’s jersey. It’s been way too long since I’ve thought about men. I feel a tingle all over when, in a deep, low voice Hawk asks, “Does your mom want my autograph, too?”
“Yes,” Wyatt says, nodding. “Definitely.”
“Oh, gosh, that’s not necessary,” I say, wondering why my voice is suddenly high pitched. Like I said, I don’t usually get starstruck. There’s just something about a broody man who can turn on the charm when it comes to young kids. Okay, this specific man. God, he’s hot. Obviously this professional athlete is just being polite while his boss is standing nearby.
Hawk looks up at me. “Oh, I think it’s definitely necessary.” Glancing at Wyatt as he reaches in his shirt pocket again, Hawk asks, “What’s your mom’s name, bud? Lucy, was it?”
Wyatt nods. Hawk extracts the stub of a parking garage ticket and starts to scribble on it. Kioko looks at his watch. “My apologies, but we have to get going.” He gestures his head toward the hall behind him.
Hawk hands me the parking ticket, letting his fingers brush along mine. I look up and the man winks at me. He winks!
Once they’re gone and the twins are helping Wyatt into his jersey, Tawnya starts to fan herself. “Lucy Nelson! The heat between you two was insane. Let me see what he wrote.”
I’m about to tell her she’s being ridiculous, when I see the autograph. Lucy, thanks for being my number one fan.
Tawnya starts screeching with laughter. “He likes you! This is amazing. We have to text the Phe-Moms. You should give him your number.”
I shake my head a few times, trying to process.
“He’s hot, right? I’m not just old and married?”
I look at her incredulously. “Hot doesn’t begin to describe him.”
Tawnya hugs me and then whistles for the kids. “Oy! Boys! Let’s go find our seats!”